


I Know All the Words

by OrdinaryBird



Series: Past is Gone, But Something Might Be Found [2]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-18 20:53:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3583617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrdinaryBird/pseuds/OrdinaryBird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Most relationships look like this,” Carlos said, drawing a line on his napkin. “What we’re doing--if that’s still what you two want--is this.” He drew a V. “There’s our darling, at the meeting point there. I’m here, you’re there. It’s one kind of triad.” He drew a line across the top of the V to form a triangle. “That’s another kind.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Returning to Baseline

**Author's Note:**

> As of the last chapter of the preceding story, we've sort of sidestepped away from continuity, as you can tell by Carlos' presence in Night Vale.  
> Title comes once again from "You Wouldn't Like Me" by Tegan and Sara, because apparently I can't name anything so I just snatch a lyric from a song I associate with the story or characters.
> 
> (also: I have a headcannon that most natives of Night Vale are just slightly rougher in bed than the average US citizen. So that's at play a little here)

There were so many ways to be sexually intimate, in Cecil's experience. You could go hot and frantic, against a wall, say, or in the backseat of a car, in a way that could only adequately be described as _fucking_. There were aggressive options, the bites and scratches that said _mine_ , trust given and received in sharp, sensual bursts, and those were always nice because they filled the senses and shut out everything else but the place where pleasure and pain folded into one another and became nearly indistinguishable.

But for the first night (and a good deal of the following day) they stuck with what is usually referred to as _making love_ in the kinds of romantic stories that Cecil absolutely did _not_ read.

He would keep his eyes open as much as he could, he decided. Eye contact. There were so many details to take in--the wrinkles around Carlos' eyes when he laughed, how his pupils dilated in the moments between deep, hungry kisses, the wink that accompanied an innuendo-laced pun.

He was so close again, his scent on the pillows and his hairs in the shower drain and Cecil couldn’t even be annoyed that he was squeezing the toothpaste from the middle of the tube because _Carlos was back home using their toothpaste again._

So he focused on their time together. Watched how he closed his eyes and exhaled deeply under the hot water in the shower, tilting his head back. He saw the new tan lines where the sun of a far-off desert had darkened his already beautifully brown skin, a couple of scars from this or that scientific mishap. He watched the long fingers trace the dark line of scar tissue on his own leg, saw Carlos' brow crease ("I didn't realize it was that bad") and changed the subject abruptly. He couldn’t not touch him in the shower, blinking away water to see Carlos’ eyes close, his mouth open slightly to let soft gasps escape.

There was no point in dressing. They barely bothered to dry off, sheets sticking to their damp skin. He studied the slightly calloused hands as they slid across his chest and held his hips, sat astride his love and stared into his eyes while their fingers and lips remembered all the sweet and secret places like the inside of Cecil’s wrist and the space where Carlos’ collarbones met. 

His eyelids fluttered shut with the scrape of teeth down the side of his throat, with the little gasps wrenched out by the feel of hands or tongue on his skin, when they moved together in the dark. But then he’d opened them again and saw the face beneath him, craning back against the pillow, hears the deep, heady sounds, the half-mumbled declarations of love. And then after one final and profound shudder Carlos opened his eyes and they’d watch each other in the bits of moonlight creeping through the curtain.

They would take their time, now. An unspoken agreement to feel and do and absorb everything, to process every detail, store it away. They weren’t taking these moments for granted. No one said _in case I’m not here tomorrow, in case I lose you again_. They didn’t have to. 

After three days, the pillow talk started getting back to normal. There was a short, blunt discussion about the best place to squeeze the toothpaste, in accordance with the instructions on the side of the tube. Carlos was talked into waiting a few days before going back to the lab. 

They still clung together in the dark, but it was easier to fall asleep in a tangle of sweaty limbs; Cecil didn’t need to watch his chest rise and fall to make sure he was still there, that this was real. 

 

On the morning of the fourth day, Carlos trudged out of the bedroom in his shorts, his hair a mess, fingerprint bruises on his arms, faint bitemarks fading from his shoulders. Cecil looked up from his coffee, wrapped in a labcoat he had claimed as a robe.

“There’s coffee,” he said, although he didn’t need to. Coffee in this kitchen, Carlos had once said, was a universal constant. Cecil wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but it sounded sweet.

They sat together at the table, happy, quiet. Cecil reviewed some notes for the afternoon broadcast, looking up occasionally to see Carlos staring out the window.

“This is great. All domestic and whatnot,” Cecil announced. His coffee had gone cold. 

“Hmm.” Carlos smiled sleepily in his direction, rested his chin in his hand. And then, after a moment, he said, “So, what are you gonna do with your other boyfriend?”

Cecil felt his stomach flip over. He worried there was an accusation under the smile. “What? Oh. That. Nothing. It’s fine.”

“Why nothing?”

Cecil studied the smiling face at the end of the table. _What trap am I stepping into?_ “Because...well, this should be enough. I should be content. I can live without that.”

“You know something?” Carlos leaned back and crossed an ankle over his knee. “I could have survived out there in the desert. There was food, there was water, things to study, people to talk to. It wasn’t half bad. Wheat products. Pens. All that.”

So this was it. Cecil had finally broken it. The distance had been too wide for too long and he’d probably encouraged the whole thing with Earl so he wouldn’t have to feel bad about walking away and this was it, it was all over and he fought the impulse to throw his coffee mug against the wall and _scream_ until his voice gave out--

“I realized, I could live outside of Night Vale. I could live, away from you.”

The room seemed to spin slightly and Cecil’s face felt cold and tingly. He grasped the edge of the table.

“But...you laugh in your sleep. You lick your mug when coffee drips down the side. You put your head on my shoulder when we watch TV. I could totally survive without all of that. But why would I want to try?”

“Wait." Cecil blinked quickly to clear a few hasty tears. "I think I missed something.”

“Things end very quickly here, Cecil. Everything shifts and before you know you’re so far away--maybe miles, maybe decades--and you think _why did I waste so much time?_ There’s always going to be something you regret. The smaller those regrets, the easier they are to deal with.”

Cecil said nothing. He tried to slow his breathing. He tried to connect all of this back to Earl.

“You were a very big thing to leave behind. I would have stayed if I didn’t have you to come back to.” He reached a hand across the table. “I love you. I don’t want you to have regrets. In case--something happens.”

 _To you? To me? To him?_ But all Cecil said was, “I love you too,” and took the extended hand.

They sat still for a moment. 

"Are you sure about this?"

"Definitely. I'm not saying you should or shouldn't. I'm saying you _can_."


	2. The Matchmaker

Earl had not heard from Cecil in five days. 

After 24 hours, he brushed off his concerns. Carlos had just gotten back; apparently hadn’t even changed before he showed up at the station. They had so much to catch up on! After 48, he laughed and told himself _they probably haven’t even gotten out of bed!_

He wouldn’t know. He hadn’t been listening to the radio at work. He also hadn’t been meeting eyes with the line cooks; their silent sympathy felt smothering. So he didn't know if some nervous intern was staggering their way through the broadcasts while Cecil was home in the arms of his one-and-only.

After 72 hours, he got a text. **Hi! :***

He responded, **Hey.** But even after the passage of time he thought that was a little cold. He added a **:-)** after a moment’s thought.

**How are you?**

**Fine. You having a nice reunion?**

After an hour came the response. **Ohmygod yes. Everything is great. Miss you though!**

Wouldn’t it be nice if that were true.

But after five days he’d more or less given up. It was fine. They had tried something, it had not worked out, and now life would go on. He worked aggressively, finishing his tasks and then chasing the line cooks from their stations, doing their work too while they fluttered to roost in a corner like startled chickens. He slept a lot, as much as he could. 

On the sixth day, he decided to do something other than work or sleep.

And that was how he ended up parked in his car outside the Moonlite All-Nite on a Thursday afternoon, watching Carlos and Cecil through the window with a dim but growing horror. They were in a booth, Carlos was laughing, his hands stretched across the table and holding both of Cecil’s. There were plates between them. The eye contact was hot and heavy.

 _Damnit._ Of course they were here. _Of course._

Should he just go home? Where else could he go? At least part of the trip was nostalgia; as kids he and Cecil would sneak out, pooling their pocket change to share a vanilla malted late at night. And he couldn’t even re-experience the bittersweet memory in peace. This was horrifically unfair. There was no justice.

 _Earl Harlan,_ he told himself, _you are going to go into that diner. You will sit at the counter and order a fucking chocolate milkshake and you will drink that goddamn shake and then you will go home and maybe cry a little, but just a little._

When the bell over the door rang, Cecil did not look up and wave with a bright smile. Carlos did not turn around to see what the commotion was. They were in a bubble. The rest of the world did not exist.

This was beyond unfair.

Earl sat at the counter and smiled at the careworn waitress. Behind him, he heard Carlos say, “no no, I don’t mind. I just want to hear you talk. I missed the way you talk. With your hands like that.”

Earl fiddled with a spoon while he waited for his drink. 

“I wonder if you could talk with your hands tied," Carlos went on behind him.

“Wanna find out?” A gleefully obscene little laugh followed. 

Earl dropped the spoon. It clattered loudly on the counter, and in his attempt to catch it he knocked it to the floor. The room got strangely quiet.

He felt eyes on the back of his neck. He had been spotted.

He turned slowly, not a little frightened, when he heard movement behind him. “Hey! Nice to see you leaving home!” It was Cecil and he was smiling like he’d never been so happy in his life and this was really _profoundly_ unfair.

Now Carlos turned, his straight, white teeth gleaming in a genuine smile. “Come sit with us.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry, I don’t want to intrude--”

Cecil was having none of that. The second the waitress set down the full glass he snatched it away, leaping gleefully toward the booth. “Come on then, plenty of room,” he chirped. 

Was it worth fighting? Any further attempt at argument would problem end in an uncomfortable emotional outburst from someone, and he wasn’t interested in finding out which one of them it would be. He trudged to the booth and slipped in. He was on the window side. His escape route was blocked when Cecil settled in next to him. Why couldn't he have just shoved in next to Carlos?

“Babe, you remember Earl,” Cecil prompted in the quiet that followed. 

“Of course. It’s good to see you. How’ve you been?”

“Fine.” Earl fiddled with his straw to give him something to do. “Happy to be back?”

“Oh.” Carlos’ smile was warm enough to burn away a good deal of Earl’s jealously, leaving only the smoking remains of shame. “Oh yes. I’ve never been so happy to spend so much time in bed.”

Cecil choked on his coffee, and Earl couldn’t help but notice the fading bruise just below his adam’s apple. Whose teeth were responsible for that?

Earl sipped the rapidly-melting shake. The table was quiet again. Carlos and Cecil were just looking at each other. Between them were two plates, one with the remains of a BLT and some french fries, the other a few crumbs of pie crust. Strawberry rhubarb, more than likely, if it was Cecil’s. He’d always been the pie-for-lunch type.

“So,” Cecil said, probably struggling to find a way to drag Earl into a conversation where he didn’t belong, “work’s been good?”

“Yeah. Busy.” 

Quiet once more. Carlos was studying Earl under his long, dark lashes, brushing a stray black curl back from his forehead. He was certainly attractive, his brown skin darkened by his time in the otherworldly sun.

But that was an uncomfortable thought, so Earl trained his eyes toward Cecil. The look in his eyes was pure mischief. With a sudden movement he snatched a french fry from Carlos’ plate and dipped it into Earl’s drink.

“Cecil. Sweetie. Oh my _god_.” Carlos looked genuinely horrified.

“What?” Exaggerated innocence. 

“That is _disgusting_.”

“Is not.” He grabbed another. “Try it.”

“No!”

“Come oooon.” Cecil turned to Earl. “Here. You have it. You have good taste. Not like this interloper.” He pushed the cold fry against Earl’s closed mouth.

What to do? He couldn’t help but look at Carlos, whose horrified expression could be in reference to the combination itself or to watching his boyfriend attempt to hand-feed another person, especially one he knew _for a fact_ had been kissing and spooning and biting said boyfriend in his absence. Cecil, seemingly unaware of all of these social nuances, prodded his lips repeatedly with the cold potato. Earl opened his mouth to make an excuse to leave, but couldn’t choke anything out before Cecil shoved the fry in.

Earl chewed slowly, his face tingling, looking down at the napkin he had unconsciously clenched in his hands. When something buzzed on the table he jumped.

“Ah, sorry, that’s work--hang on--” Cecil slid out of the booth and towards the door abruptly, squeezing Carlos’ shoulder as he passed.

“Alone at last,” Carlos said, and Earl peeked up to see him smile. 

“Hah. Yeah.”

Carlos scratched the back of his neck and leaned back, crossing his arms. “I hope you haven’t been hiding away just because I’m here,” he said finally.

“What? No, of course not,” Earl lied. “I just figured you two would want some time together. You know. It’s been so long.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that. As long as you know there’s still room. If that’s what you two want.”

Earl looked out the window. “I really don’t want to get in the way.”

“Oh, no, you wouldn’t. Here--” Carlos carefully picked through the french fries on his plate for a thin, pointed one, which he dipped in ketchup. “Most relationships look like this,” he said, drawing a line on his napkin with it. “What we’re doing--if that’s still what you two want--is this.” He drew a V. “There’s our Cecil, at the meeting point there. I’m here, you’re there. It’s one kind of triad.” He drew a line across the top of the V to form a triangle. “That’s another kind. All of these structures can be perfectly healthy and productive.”

Earl had nothing to say. The directness of the description was intimidating.

“Listen,” Carlos said, leaning forward. “If this isn’t working out for you, that makes sense. Absolutely. But don’t just walk away for my sake. If it isn’t hurting you...I think the extra support will be good for all of us.”

“I don’t want to just be, like, space filler,” Earl said suddenly. He stirred the shake in the glass thoughtfully, watched the spiralling line left behind slowly sink back into the liquid. “If this is going to be something it would have to be substantial.”

“Of course.” Carlos smiled. “I think this week was an anomaly. A year is a long time to make up for, you know?”

“I know, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be selfish--”

“Don’t apologize. Your feelings are valid, as long as your actions are responsible. That, at least, you seem really good at.” Carlos tossed his makeshift pen back towards his plate and leaned away from the table, arms spread over the back of the booth, looking so cool and secure. 

_No wonder Cecil fell in love so fast._ Earl quickly corrected that thought before it could get out of hand. 

“In any event,” Carlos went on, oblivious, “I’ve got to get back to work in a couple of days. Why don’t you ask if he wants to do something on Saturday? I’ve still got a cot in the lab if you need the place to yourselves.”

“Carlos...are you--”

“Yes, I am.” He was smiling still. 

“But _why_? You could go back to how things were before, easy. He wouldn’t argue at all, and I’d back right off.”

“Well, there’s definitely a curiosity. Despite my research I’ve never been in the middle of a relationship structured like this. So I want to see how it plays out. And anyway, I think this has all been really good for him, that you’re really good for him, and that makes me so _happy_ because I don’t think it’s easy for him to trust people at _all_ and I trust you too so....everyone trusts each other.”

"And that's good!" he added, possibly just to break the silence that followed.

The bell over the door rang again and Cecil sat back down, setting his phone on table. “Well,” he said, “it looks like Intern Charlie might make it through the night. Long story,” he said with a dismissive wave, presumably misinterpreting Earl's expression.

He looked the proud jut of Carlos’ stubbled chin, then at Earl. _What is my face doing? Is it suspicious?_

Cecil half-laughed. “What were you two up to in here?”

Earl attempted a neutral, calm expression. “The matchmaker,” he said quietly, “is hard at work.”


	3. An Unstable Circle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to write action. Can you let me know if it worked?
> 
> [UPDATE: Wanna see a beautiful Carlos lick yogurt out of the tub? I hope so, because [here it is](http://videntefernandez.tumblr.com/post/120976782243/an-infamous-scene-from-chapter-3-of-i-know-all), thanks to the very talented videntefernandez!]

No one was home when Carlos got in. He got the last tub of yogurt from the fridge and sat on the counter. The flatware drawer was too far away, so he licked it out of the container; no one was home to see him do it anyway. It was the kind with the little peach pieces in it, which he’d been saving for last. He enjoyed the quiet.

It was _so good_ to be back in a real lab again. The first night he’d mostly just walked around, touching things. _Hello, Bunsen burner. I missed you too, Erlenmeyer flasks._ Now he was back to real work though.

He was planning to go back there for the night, but he figured he could sneak in and grab some dinner real quick before date night ended up back at the apartment.

He was, of course, incorrect. 

The door opened and there was a loud thump as a cooler fell from Earl’s hands. “Oh. Oh, you startled me. I didn’t think you’d be here. Sorry.”

Carlos wiped some yogurt from his cheek with the back of his hand. “That’s okay, don’t worry about it. Good night?”

“Yeah, I made little sandwiches. We had a picnic at Raydon Canyon.” 

The door opened again. Cecil, cheeks a little red and eyes full of laughter, flowed into the apartment. “Oh look! Apartment is full of darlings. Hi darling!” He kissed Carlos’ cheek.

Earl looked away. “We also brought some wine to Raydon Canyon.”

“I will _never_ understand you people. Raydon Canyon is like Pripyat times eight.”

“I guess you just get used to it, if you grow up here.”

“Earl, _no one just ‘gets used to’ toxic radiation_.”

“Oooor maybe,” Cecil interrupted, “we’re just more highly evolved life forms than you and your science friends.”

“Anyway, sorry,” Earl said again. “Are you going back _whatthehell--!_ ”

Cecil giggled with a slight hiccup. “I told you.” He must have noticed Carlos’ look of polite confusion. “I told him that the next time I heard him apologize for no reason I was gonna goose him. You know how hard I pinch.” He darted cheerfully into the other room.

He absolutely did, and attempted sympathetic eye contact with Earl. “You may want to put some ice on that. I’ll be out of your way in just a second, let me just finish up my snack.”

“Sure. Yeah. Of course. Work going well?”

“Oh sure.” He tried to stretch his tongue as far as he could. “I’m working on some really exciting stuff.” Yeah, no, he was not getting to the bottom of the container. 

“Good.” Earl opened the cutlery drawer and handed Carlos a spoon, then pulled down a paper towel from over the sink. “Hate to see you struggle like that. What kind of stuff are you up to?”

“Oh, it’s all boring technical nonsense--”

Earl shrugged. “I’ve got a minute.”

“Well, okay. So I brought back a whole bunch of samples, right? Rocks and sand and things, and I’ve been comparing it to the rocks and sand in Night Vale and some stuff I had with me before we settled here and it’s really different. I broke one of the rocks and that was really unfortunate but also really neat because it was actually a geode and it was full of the most beautiful crystals--I put half of it on the living room shelf but I kept the other half in the lab, you know, for science--”

“Oooh.” Cecil poked his head around the corner. “Did you start the nerdy talk without me?” He came back in the room and leaned casually against the counter Earl was standing against.

“--yeah, sorry, but anyway none of my flower samples survived the trip back so I couldn’t figure out what the thing was with the disappearing cactus flowers, you know Cecil, the thing--”

“Yep. I remember the thing,” he said gleefully. 

“--right, but last night I found a whole bunch of shredded leaves in the pocket of my labcoat while I was doing laundry so that obviously warrants further study. Oh, and I made this app--it’s really cool--while I was away I made this app that would make the projection thing easier and more stable, so we’ve been experimenting with how that works inside the town limits.”

It seemed almost lewd to be talking this scientifically in the middle of what was technically someone else’s date. Earl was clearly interested, although possibly not as interested as Cecil, who was maintaining a slightly distant but intense kind of eye contact.

“Man, that sounds a lot more exciting than my work,” Earl was saying.

“Oh no, of course not--cooking and baking and stuff are like, all about science, it’s like, _chemistry_ and _physics_ and _math_ and--”

He stopped. Something was wrong.

And then Cecil walked away, his bare feet audible on the kitchen floor in the anxious quiet. Back straight, eyes forward, he walked out the front door.

Earl choked out a curse and followed him at a run, and Carlos moved on instinct, catching up before he realized he was moving. “Is this that thing?”

“Um. Probably. Eighty-five percent sure.”

Carlos reached Cecil first and grabbed his arm. “Come on, sweetie. Whatever it is, we--”

Cecil, without breaking stride, placed a hand firmly in the center of Carlos’ chest and shoved. There was a lot of power behind that push, and Carlos fell back against the wall and staggered. Cecil was around the corner and down the stairs by the time he got back to his feet.

“What do we do?” He asked, desperation swelling in his chest.

Earl shrugged helplessly. “Follow?”

 

City Hall was dark and silent. The streets were not often this quiet late at night, but it seemed even the hooded figures had thought better of bothering whatever was lurking out there. Cecil was not near the door, which was closed and locked. Where did he--

_Oh god._

There was a bloody half-footprint on the ground, the beginning of a trail. With a wordless exchange of glances, they followed it around toward a dumpster and an open window.

“Of course,” Earl mumbled. “He was never any good at picking locks.” He pulled himself carefully on top of the dumpster. Carlos, still on the ground, worried about the bacteria on the surface, creeping their way into Cecil’s unprotected, injured foot. 

“Is that another Scout Badge?” he asked.

“No, but he opted out of Home Ec to take more language arts credits.” Earl disappeared into the darkness beyond the open window. Carlos pulled himself laboriously up, wiping his hands on his lab coat before climbing in after him. 

Earl was ahead, holding a lighter aloft. It was not much help. But a second later the fluorescent tubes overhead flickered to life, casting a sickly light around the room.

In the center there was a ring of stones surrounding an ornate pattern on the floor. In the corner, by the light switches, was Cecil. He turned around, looking through Earl and Carlos, head cocked to the side like he was listening for something. 

He crossed to the stones, leaving a trail of bloody footprints, and gently touched the nearest one.

Carlos’ teeth itched and he felt like his ears needed to pop, only moreso. He felt the tingle of static lift the hairs from his neck and was torn between fear and scientific curiosity.

Cecil’s lips were moving silently as he stepped around the circle slowly, touching here and there on the stones. His nose started dripping a thin trickle of bloody. The almost-electric hum, previously just on the edge of hearing, grew more intense.

“What’s he doing?” Carlos whispered.

“I’m not sure, but whatever it is, it’s not a standard ritual. Most of us never have to do the high-level, spontaneous bleeding stuff.”

Cecil moved away from the circle and knelt in a corner of the room, where he carefully swept something into his hand. Then he walked back, carefully stepped between two stones, and dropped whatever he was holding into the center of the pattern on the floor. The air smelled like scorched milk.

“Dust?” Earl hissed to himself. “That’s not going to be stable! Carlos, find cover.” He turned and then whispered over his shoulder, “and a weapon!”

Carlos didn’t move. He watched Cecil brush off his hands and step back outside the circle, then sit between the stones, head tilted slightly, listening again.

He needed to do something. His feet started moving without his consent and he crossed the room quickly. “Babe,” he said, softly, “ _corozon_. Please tell me what’s going on. Please? I know you’re in there. Just tell me how to help. Let me help you and we can find a way to stop all this--”

He knelt in front of Cecil, who was still looking off in the distance, and reached toward the stone to steady himself.

With a slapping sound, Cecil’s hand grabbed his wrist like a vice. “Go away.” He didn’t look at Carlos, but spoke in his direction, like he wasn’t entirely sure where he was. His voice sounded slurred. “Casualties are to be avoided. Hide. Run. Leave this place.”

And he pushed him away.

Carlos fell hard on the stone floor. 

“What are you _doing_?” Earl shouted from across the room. Carlos turned and saw him, in a corner, holding a metal pipe with an expression of exasperated disbelief. “ _Does that look like cover to you?!”_

Carlos looked back to Cecil. Blood had begun to trickle from the other nostril and he was sweating slightly. His eyes were blank, focused on nothing. He rose slowly and backed away. 

In the echoy distance of the building there was an angry, confused shriek, and pounding footsteps. Dana Cardinal burst in at a run, in frog pajamas and slippers, gasping and tripping over her feet.

She didn’t notice Carlos. But she did see Cecil. And she was furious.

“ _Again?!_ ” she shouted, seemingly to the ceiling.

Carlos stared at her, then towards Cecil. He was still sitting just outside the circle, head tilted, attentive. Almost canine.

“ _You_ ,” Carlos snarled, surprising himself with his own rage. He crossed to her in three steps, vision blurred with anger. “What did you do--”

He was pushed back again, stumbling to catch himself. Silently, Cecil grabbed the mayor by the arm and pulled her toward the circle, pushing her within its boundaries. He touched the stones on either side of the doorway he’d left open. He made a sharp hissing sound, his previously neutral face contorting with pain.

“ _Carlos_ you want to move away _right now…!_ ” Earl shouted from across the room.

There was nothing he could do. He looked helplessly back and forth between Cecil and Earl. He extended a hand towards Cecil, then pulled it back.

“Just go, will you?!” Dana shouted from inside the circle.

With one last look over his shoulder, Carlos joined Earl in the corner. 

“Did you find a weapon? Oh no, of course not,” Earl muttered. “Why would you?”

The door opened again. Three--figures? Shadows?--somethings came in. They seemed to flicker and drag and glitch.

“What is that?” Carlos asked.

“I don’t know.”

Cecil’s nose was trailing blood down the front of his pastel blue top, the one with the purple cartoon rabbit in the chest pocket, and Carlos thought _he loves that shirt, he’ll be so upset_ and could barely swallow a hysterical sound. _Turn around!_ his mind screamed at his distant lover.

But Cecil just stood, biting his lip, eyes blank and brows contracted in pain. He was still as the figures approached. He no longer seemed to be listening to anything. He stared again.

Over the hum of the stones and the half-audible steps of the flickering shadows and Carlos’ own panicked breathing, Cecil made a soft sound like a sigh. His knees buckled. He fell forward, barely catching himself on his hands, and twitched. There was a thin keening sound from the pile of Cecil on the floor.

“No!” Dana shouted. She tried to move toward the boundary of the circle but was pushed back by forces unseen. The leftmost figure reached towards her, but was similarly repelled. They paused for a moment, then moved forward as one, vaguely humanoid, menacing.

“Oh no.”

It was Earl. “No, no no no,” he went on. “They’re smart enough to know. They have to destroy--the one who built up the circle.” His eyes were glossy and he blinked. “You stay here,” he said, choking on the words.

“What? No, I--” Carlos rose into a crouch and grabbed his arm.

“What do you think he would feel--do--if you don’t get out of here? _He just got you back._ ” And without another word he lunged forward, running, with a pained shriek. 

The shadows stopped, watching him. What could he possibly do with that metal pipe? The figures only half existed, it seemed, how could he--

Cecil shifted. He looked like he was being pulled up from under his arms, like a doll, or a sleeping child. He turned, floppy, uncoordinated. He grabbed the arm of the nearest figure, pulled, whipped it into the boundaries of the circle.

There was a terrible silence, more than just an absence of sound. Sound had been snatched into the void by force. The figure seemed to become solid, rigid, to shatter.

Earl skidded to a halt and reversed course. “Get down!” He screamed. “He’s weaponized it, it’s already unstable, _get down_ \--"

And he threw himself on top of Carlos like a man covering a grenade.

There was a terrible, piercing silence. A pervasive nothingness. And then--  
\--the sound of a gentle sob.


	4. Lucky

“Can you explain it to him?” Carlos asked. "I need to..." he gestured nervously towards the bedroom.

Earl’s control over the situation seemed to have evaporated. They watched the still form in the kitchen, slumped awkwardly against the counter. “You should be here when he wakes up,” he said.

“I can’t--” Carlos cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“He’s going to want _you_.”

“I can’t. Can you try? Please?” Carlos wasn’t sure he had the words for what just happened, or that he’d be able to say anything other than _pack a bag, I’m getting you out of here._

Perhaps he should have felt guilty. But no. A scientist always knows his limits. And self care is important. And he was shaking and wasn’t sure how much longer his legs would hold him up.

“Okay,” Earl said. “Fine. But stay close, just in case.”

Carlos walked into the bedroom as fast as he dared and ripped off his lab coat. There were smears of blood down the right shoulder and he couldn’t stand the copper smell another second. Cecil, still asleep or wherever he had been, had tried to refuse their help and stagger home on his own, but what happened had overwhelmed even whatever-it-was that puppeted him back and forth, and, finally, he slumped wordlessly between them. They'd carried him home, his slack and bleeding face resting on Carlos' shoulder. 

He wanted to change. He wanted to shower. He wanted to scream, maybe cry. From the other room he heard the soft, tired voice mumble “oh no, I love this shirt”.

Carlos’ knees gave under him. He lowered himself carefully to the floor and sat, placing his head in his hands. _Breathe slow_ , he instructed himself. _You don’t have time for a panic attack. You can’t now._

He counted along with his breaths, heard raised voices, an exhausted, hopeless, hysterical laugh, and then retching. There was a comforting _shhh_.

After the horror had stopped, when Carlos was able to look up from under Earl, Cecil was leaning heavily on one of the stones, his lips moving, blood trailing down his face. The humming stopped, and Carlos’ ears popped painfully. The air shook gently.

Dana--what happened to Dana? He would have to ask Earl. He hadn’t noticed. He assumed Cecil defeated the other to creatures in the same way, he assumed Earl saw it and could explain the details, and he knew that the little sob had come from above him, that it had shaken the arms wrapped around him, the hands holding his head down.

He heard the shower running, voices barely audible over the water. He stripped slowly, carefully, trying to be mindful of the fabric and the shadows and his own skin, trying to distance himself from the events of the last few hours.

After he changed, he knocked softly on the bathroom door. After a second, it opened, steam pouring out. 

“Hi. Want to give me a hand here?”

Carlos followed him in and sat on the edge of the tub. Cecil was on the floor under the shower head, staring blankly at the drops of rusty-colored water dripping onto the floor of the tub from his face.

“Diluted blood is orange,” he said weakly. “Isn’t that interesting? You’d think it might be pink, but it’s actually orange.”

Earl handed Carlos a wash cloth and sat on the floor. “It’s the iron,” Carlos said, dabbing at Cecil’s face. 

“Always have the answer,” Cecil whispered. He reached a shaky hand upward and held Carlos’ hand still. There seemed to be something else he wanted to say. After a moment he just shook his head and let go.

“Are you hurt?” Earl asked. 

_Well that’s a stupid question--_ Carlos wanted to say, but when he turned he realized Earl was looking at him. “Me? No. I’m alright. You?”

“I’m okay. Let me know if you need anything.” He kept vigil from the floor while Carlos carefully cleaned Cecil's face, then pulled the glass from his foot with tweezers. Together they got him into bed.

 

_It is dark and he is running but he can’t go fast enough--he’s afraid he’ll lose Cecil around a corner in the black maze. Cecil is walking backwards, slowly, blank eyes looking through Carlos, his nose and lips bloody, in ragged work clothes. He’s speaking, but it’s not English and it’s not Spanish. He is dark and powerful._  
Carlos loses sight of him for a moment, just a moment, in the dark, turns a corner, tries to call out but he can’t make a sound  
and then something changes and Cecil is standing in front of him, turned away, and he crosses his arms over his chest and falls back and Carlos catches him  
and his empty eyes close and with a vicious smile he whispers “ve nye ponemayetyeh”-- 

\--and Carlos jerked awake, sweating and gasping.

The room was dark and silent, and so it took a second to remember where he is, what had happened.

Cecil was against the wall, curled up around a pillow, his brow contracted in the dimness. He’d wrapped himself tightly in one of Carlos’ lab coats. On the other side was--oh, right, Earl; Cecil asked him to stay as an added layer of protection, just in case something happened.

Carlos rolled away from Cecil and almost immediately felt an arm slap against his face. Earl shifted against the pillow and did not open his eyes.

“S’ok baby,” he mumbled thickly, moving his hand toward the back of Carlos’ neck. “You’re safe now. Go t’sleep.”

Carlos was fairly certain he did not know who he was comforting. He felt almost guilty, for a moment, wondering if it would be inappropriate to accept the support. A scientist ought to be self-sufficient, and anyway this was not a triangular relationship.

But sleep-dulled fingers rubbed against the back of his neck, tangling in his hair. “S’fine,” Earl said. “You’re safe.” He pulled Carlos closer, pushing his nose into the unfamiliar, bare chest. 

It was getting difficult to breathe and he was feeling claustrophobic in the warm closeness. He pulled carefully away. There was an indistinct comment from the pillow. The hand stayed on the back of his neck.

Carlos drifted in and out of an unpleasant haze of dreams, but every time he surfaced Earl’s hand was still somewhere on him, a comforting if slightly clammy presence.

 

He surfaced slowly from a reasonably deep sleep, feeling something soft on his face. Carlos opened his eyes slowly, blinking at Cecil. The soft thing was one of Cecil’s fingers, smooth from a lifetime without physical labor. He was smiling.

“Morning, handsome. Want some breakfast?” He propped his head up on his hand. “There’s frozen waffles and Earl is doing some kind of fancy fruit...stuff….to put on top of them. So are you awake now? Or do you need more sleep?”

“No. I’m alright. How are you?”

“Oh, me?” Cecil’s face shined with a false brightness. “I’m fine. I’ll miss that shirt though! Not sure I can get the stains out.”

“Cecil. Please.” Carlos sat up and scrubbed a hand over his dry eyes. “Are you okay?”

Cecil shrugged. “I--I don’t know anymore. Earl told me a few things that aren’t sitting well. Like, I built a protective circle that could shatter energy, in whatever form the things were. That’s more than I could ever do on my own. More than I’ve had to learn. And using dust instead of soil? I could have killed all of us! But something knew better. And it’s not like they found something in me I learned and forgot. I’ve never learned a substitution for any bloodstone work. It’s _not_ something you’re supposed to improvise!” He looked away, towards the still-covered windows. “I could have killed all three of us and never even know it.”

Carlos placed a gentle hand on Cecil’s leg. It was all of the comfort he could offer. Cecil covered it with his own, and then smiled again, a bit less artificially. “We’re lucky to be alive. And we are! So let’s be thankful for what we have, right? We have--each other! And the coffee is fresh, and we have two boxes of Eggos in the freezer, and whatever it is Earl is doing to those peaches.” 

“We are very lucky,” he said after a second.

And that was it. That was Cecil. He could have died--they all could have died--and he considered this good fortune because they didn’t, they’d have another day together. There would be more hell and terror and loss tomorrow, but for today they were lucky. Carlos leaned into his mouth suddenly, a hard and admittedly needy kiss, lips parted and with a hand on the back of the neck.

Cecil laughed into his mouth and melted backwards into the mattress beneath. After a moment he broke the kiss. “Come on, get some decent clothes on.” This was accompanied by a playful slap on the ass. 

Carlos changed his shorts and undershirt, then found a pair of pajama pants that were theoretically clean enough for the moment. 

“Hey!” Cecil called from the bed. When Carlos turned he was hugging his knees, smiling coyly. “Were you two...cuddling this morning?”

“I wouldn’t--well, quite put it that way--”

“Oh come on. He absolutely had an arm around you.”

Carlos studied Cecil’s face carefully. He didn’t seem to be upset, and there was a bit of redness in his cheeks. “I had an unpleasant dream. And anyway, he probably thought it was you. He called me 'baby'.”

“Nah.” Cecil waved a hand dismissively. “Earl’s a caretaker. It’s how he deals with a world that is completely and terrifyingly out of his control--he’ll nurture the living daylights out of you if you’ll let him. No one’s allowed to have a nightmare in Earl Harlan’s vicinity.” After a pause, he asked, “What did you dream about?”

“Nothing. I mean, nothing I could explain.” Carlos thought of the bloody face he’d seen in his dream and shuddered involuntarily.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m around.” Cecil rose and walked towards Carlos. “I love you. I know I’ve been, like, super needy lately, but if you need me--you know I’d do anything for you.” He smiled and placed his hands on Carlos’ shoulders. “I’ll even let you cuddle my other boyfriend.”

And Carlos couldn’t help but kiss him once--quick--before he followed him out of the room. The pain and the fear and the risk would be there later, but for now, the smell of spices and peach was drifting through the apartment and they were alive to have breakfast together and they _were_ lucky indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream-Cecil's Russian translates to "you don't know", as well as my western ass can approximate without Cyrillic characters and a few years away from my elementary Russian class.
> 
> UPDATE: So [postapocalypticrainbow](http://postapocalypticrainbow.tumblr.com) has drawn a beautiful picture from this chapter, and [you need to look at it](http://postapocalypticrainbow.tumblr.com/image/123405070878).


	5. A Nest

Earl wasn’t quite used to having keys yet, so he still opened the door very slowly, stuck his head in to look around before proceeding. Before it creaked shut, he called out a nervous _hellooo?_ that started out almost at shout and petered out awkwardly near the end.

But no one answered. He set the grocery bags on the counter and started putting things away--a few chicken thighs, some mushrooms and an interesting cheese. Cecil had offered to cook tonight, but he wasn’t in the mood for “a few random things thrown in a saute pan and then wrapped in a corn tortilla”, so he’d declined. 

And then there were the apples. What to do with them? He took a thoughtful bite out of one and looked around the kitchen. There was a fruit bowl, such as it was, on the table. Should they go in there as a communal offering? He figured both Cecil and Carlos could use some healthy snack options. As it was, the fruit bowl contained a few browning bananas and a single clementine with skin like rubber. 

He left the bag in the fridge. If anyone asked, he’d say they were up for grabs. Setting them out felt presumptuous, somehow.

He sat at the table and bit reflectively into an apple. Cecil would be meeting him any moment now, and he self-consciously adjusted his posture. Casual, but confident and charming. That was what he wanted to communicate.

He waited. After a few minutes, he craned his neck to check the clock on the microwave, but it flashed ??:??? in useless red lights. He chewed his apple slowly.

After another few minutes, there was a rustling sound in the other room.

_Puppies?_ Maybe the landlord hadn’t sprayed after the last infestation. He closed eyes his eyes and tried to focus the power of all five sense in his hearing. 

Hmm. Definitely from the bedroom. He moved slowly in that direction, on his toes.

The closet door was open and the light was on. So it probably wasn’t puppies; even if they knew to tug the cord to make the light come on, how would they reach it? Unless devious little pests had learned teamwork...

He peaked cautiously inside.

And there he found Cecil, half hidden under racks weighed heavily with bright and patterned shirts. He’d drawn his knees and arms into a massive tie-dye sweatshirt and was staring at the door.

“Hi,” Earl said, for lack of anything better. Cecil looked up at him wordlessly. After another moment, he went on, “I’ve been waiting for you. How long have you been home?” 

“I--I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Earl sat across from him on the floor. “Are you okay?”

Cecil pushed his arms through the empty sleeves of the sweatshirt, then tugged the right one up to the elbow. “Look,” he said. 

There was a long scratch on the tan underside of his forearm.

For a moment, Earl said nothing. Had he done this himself? But that wasn’t like Cecil. _Was it?_ He swallowed his nervous assumptions and cleared his throat. “When did that happen?” It seemed as good a place to start as any.

“ _I don’t know!_ ” His voice sounded thin, on the edge of hysteria.

“When did you notice it?” Earl leaned forward and held the thin wrist, turning it into the light. It was closed, and hadn’t been deep. It looked jagged and was probably accidental.

“I don’t know. Earlier this afternoon.”

“Not sure of the time?”

“No.” 

“Well…” Earl examined the wound, stroking the scab cautiously with a finger. “It’s at least a day old, I would say. Wasn’t bad. What were you doing yesterday?”

“Earl, listen to me, I don’t _know_. I had a normal day at work I guess, I slept fine, everything was okay and then I was just _here_ and that was just _there_ \--”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I don’t--” he made a choking sound and looked toward the door. He was gasping and his eyes were wide. “ _What. Is happening. To me._ ”

“I don’t know. But let me help you, okay, we can figure this out--”

“I can’t do this, I can’t, nothing happened everything was fine I didn’t go anywhere I don’t think but I try to remember what’s happened and I can’t, I don’t know what I’ve done or what’s happened and my vision is kind of blurry and I have the _weirdest_ headache--”

“Okay. Slow down. Do you want help?”

He opened his mouth, closed in again. Swallowed. “Yes.”

“How much help?”

“ _A lot of help._ ”

Earl moved beside him and handed him the half-eaten apple. “Here. Describe this.”

“It’s an _apple_.” 

“No, like, in detail. Focus on the apple. You can be really certain about that apple, it’s right there in your hand. The apple is a fact of where we are and what we’re doing. Absorb the apple.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Cecil cleared his throat and rubbed one of his eyes. “Uh. It’s pink. A little brown inside. It’s been bitten and the juice is making me very sticky.”

“Go on.”

“It’s cold.” He sniffed it carefully. “It smells….it smells like a _fucking apple_.” He poked it gently with his tongue. “It’s sweet.” 

His voice was quieter, lower in pitch. Hopefully that meant he was settling down. “Anything else?”

“No.” He inhaled deeply, and then said, not a little stiffly, “thank you.”

After a pause, he added, “I just don’t like--needing this much. You know?”

Earl nodded. “Okay. Are you still not sure about yesterday?”

“I have absolutely no idea.” He blinked heavily. "My vision is still blurry."

“Okay.” What to do now? He watched the dust motes drift around in the light of the bare bulb. “Hey, he said suddenly, “give me your phone.”

He found what he was looking for after a few moments of tapping around. He was still adjusting to the changes in technology during the years he skipped. “Look. You liked some of Carlos’ pictures from the lab. That was at like 9:30 in the morning. A couple hours later you had lunch and did--something--with the picture you took. I don’t know what this app does. So I’m not sure what. But it’s got a time on it. 12:15. You..re-tumbled? I guess?...some nerdy and vaguely inappropriate jokes Carlos posted on his thing a few minutes after that. You were on the radio after that, I know because I had it on at work. It, uh, keeps the line cooks happy.”

“What about after that?”

“Um, at like 4:30 you--wait, the screen went away, how do I get it back?”

Cecil leaned over and pushed a button on the side. His hand was still shaking, but only a little. “At 4:30--we made plans for tonight.”

“Yes! Good,” Earl said, squeezing his hand hard.

“What were the plans?”

Earl shrugged. “Dinner, really, that was about as far as we got. If you want, we can call Carlos. I’m sure he’ll know what happened after that.”

Cecil shook his head. “I’ve been leaning on him a lot lately. I lean on you a lot too. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I appreciate it. The trust. And also...you’re so steady, you know? I mean, you’ve changed a lot since we were younger, but after the timeline broke it seemed like I was dropped into the middle of nowhere, surrounded by names I knew attached to complete strangers. You changed, but in ways that made sense, ways I could predict. So this is familiar, somehow. This is right. You’re the same Cecil who--” he almost said _who I’ve talked down from great heights and sat with through long nights, who snuck into my house when his became an empty monument to the lost Palmer family_ , but this didn’t seem like the time. “You’re the same Cecil.”

Cecil leaned forward, eyes open, and kissed him lightly. His mouth still tasted slightly of coffee. “That means something. I’m not entirely sure what. But it does.”

“Good. I think I’m glad to hear that.” 

They stayed in the closet for most of the night. Earl popped out briefly and returned with apples and cheese and a few pieces of bread. Cecil was clearly still a little spacey, but calmer; at one point he announced, “this is our nest, Earl, we must stay here,” with a small and slightly mischievous smile.

After a few moments, while picking at the crust on a piece of the bread, he said, “I think it’s, you know. Private in here. All this cloth around. And it doesn’t make my teeth itch. Know what I mean?”

_No bugs_ was the unspoken implication. Earl nodded and leaned closer, just in case. “Anything you want to talk about in particular?” 

“No. It’s just nice to have a place. Where you know you can.”


	6. A Day In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we've all earned a bit of light-hearted fluff, haven't we?  
> (Also, I think rummy is the fanny pack of card games.)

Cecil was fully aware of, and lovingly accepted, the fact that Carlos puttered. Sure, it was a verb usually associated with old men hobbling around a garage long past the age where they had purpose there, but there was a meandering quality to it that fit his partner very well. He puttered around his lab, talking to people in hushed tones and poking at things and mumbling figures and tapping glass tubes full of stuff with a quizzical and sexy thoughtfulness. And here he was, puttering around the kitchen with a half-eaten apple between his teeth, as though he’d forgotten it was there. The dish drainer was half empty, like he’d started to put things away before decided suddenly to putter over to the fridge and start clearing out half-full tupperware and old take-out containers that had been shoved to the back and forgotten. 

He was in the same t-shirt he’d left the house in the day before, Cecil realized, pointedly ignoring the twinge of relief at remembering a detail from before the closet nesting incident. The light grey one he’d given Carlos for some holiday or other, that said _Talk Nerdy to Me_. Coming from Cecil it worked as both a gift and an instruction. 

He was being _domestic_ and it was _adorable_ and Cecil’s heart swelled to bursting with love. He nearly frolicked across the room, squeezing his shoulder as he passed, trying to make the squeeze communicate adoration and appreciation. But when he spied the travesty on the counter, his good will evaporated like water on a hot stove. 

“Carlos.” He tried to keep his tone low and pleasant, “my best beloved Carlos. Did you finish the coffee?” The pot was still turned on but there was maybe a quarter of a cup in the carafe, just enough to keep the glass from being damaged by the hot plate.

“Hmm?” Carlos turned, apple still in his mouth. He bit it and shook his head while he chewed. “Your boyfriend was up before you. I think he took a cup to the shower.” 

This was perfectly reasonable. Cecil frequently brought coffee into the shower, and in fact the top of the corner shelf was clear so one would have a place to rest a cup outside of the shower spray. But what kind of monster finished a coffee pot at nine in the morning and just left it empty?

There were soft steps behind him. “Morning,” came the pleasant voice. 

_Remain. Calm,_ Cecil instructed himself. He turned. He tried to smile, but judging by the looks of concern, he was not succeeding. “Earl. Sweetums. I am… _so glad_ you feel at home here. You should! This is one of the places where you belong.

“How _ev_ er. You will note that the coffee pot has a clock on it. I have taught that clock, through many hours of carefully reinforced Pablobian--”

“ _Pavlovian_ ”, Carlos corrected automatically.

“--conditioning,” Cecil went on, as though uninterrupted, “to produce coffee before any of us even wake up. It is in tune with our brain waves, Earl. This is for your own safety.” He placed his hands gently on Earl’s shoulders. “I love you. You know this. But in _this house_ , if you finish the coffee before noon, _you make another fucking pot_.” 

Earl looked confused and a little frightened. Perhaps the Voice was doing that thing again, the sneaky thing that had gotten Telly in so much trouble. Not that he hadn’t earned it, that wicked traitor to all that is good and pure in this dark world, but it still hadn’t been intentional. Cecil kissed the tip of his nose to break the tension. “Okay?” he said brightly.

Earl nodded. “Sure.” 

“Okay. It’ll be done brewing in a few if you want some more.”

As he turned away he caught Carlos’ eye. There was that hot thoughtfulness again, and he was even tapping his finger against his pursed lips. What was he observing that had him so rapt?

Carlos didn’t seem upset about whatever it was. Earl looked confused and a little pink under his freckles. Cecil cleared his throat. “So anyway. Who wants waffles?”

 

“Are you home today?” Cecil asked, struggling against the cat-patterned pajamas he was suddenly stuck in. Somehow the drawstring knot had gotten completely out of control.

“Yep.” Carlos tossed his laundry in the hamper and dug around for a fresh shirt. “But if you need private time to talk to him I totally understand.”

“Talk to him about what?” He sat on the unmade bed and hunched over, carefully picking apart the knot.

“The conversation in the kitchen. That was the first time you told him, wasn’t it?”

“About the coffee? Well, he never--”

Oh. 

_Oh._

“Masters of us all,” he muttered, setting his head in his hands, “I did it again. I told myself I wasn’t going to do it this time.”

“What? Fall in love?”

“No, no,” Cecil said, waving a hand dismissively. “That was basically assumed. I wasn’t going to just--I mean, I was going to plan something. You know? Not, like, announce it. You found out on the radio, for god’s sake. I am oh-for-two on reasonable declarations of love.” 

It wasn’t his fault, not really. Most people treated romance like hunting, stalking it quietly before a sudden strike. Cecil sowed love, throwing seeds to the wind, and forgot that most people couldn’t see them grow. 

“Well, yeah, it is a little jarring,” Carlos said, sitting next to him and placing a cool hand on his back. “But it’s part of what people love about you. You’re so open about things, and it makes it easier to trust you.”

That sounded like a bit of bullshit to Cecil, but it was sweet bullshit, and that was enough. It probably irritated people, Earl was probably confused and angry or upset. But Carlos was trying to accept his personal flaws, and that definitely meant something.

 

What a frustrating day. 

Both Earl and Carlos kept offering to leave. They bumped into each other and laughed too loudly, like they were trying to drown out some other sound. They seemed to look at him when they were talking to each other, Earl with a sort of nervousness, Carlos with that same kind of curiosity he’d had on his face all day.

Around three, things kind of came to a head. Cecil found a deck of cards and was about to propose a game of rummy, but when he emerged from the elusive depths of the hall closet, Carlos was slipping his shoes on at the door. “I guess I’m gonna head out, then.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake.” Cecil sat heavily and tossed the cards across the kitchen table. “Carlos, _you live here._ Earl, _everyone here likes you_.” He thought again of his conversational slip over coffee and tried to choose words with caution. “You are both relatively normal people, you seem to like each other just fine. You speak highly of each other to me. You’ve done very brave things for--” _back up back up, not today_ “--together. I think you two can sit down and play a stupid card game with me without being all weird about it.”

The first game was largely silent, and Cecil watched his companions closely. Carlos would stare at the ceiling with his tongue poking slightly between his lips, determining the odds of finding certain cards. But Earl squinted intently at his hand, at their faces, and Cecil was reminded of countless hours of dodgeball and ritualistic games of skill at the fairs of their youth. 

He laughed when he won, not a hint of shyness or insecurity, a proud, full sound. 

“Do you know how many games of rummy I’ve played with him?” he said cheerfully as Carlos doubled checked Cecil’s math. “Used to do this all the time, and I have a solid record of wins.”

Carlos smiled. “I learned from my aunt. Now that woman could play. She sipped her tea with a handful of cards and you’d think _this time, Tia, this time I’ve got you!_ and then she’d smile so sweetly and lay down half a deck’s worth of runs. I never beat her, either.”

“Excuse me,” Cecil said, glaring at them over his shuffling, “I have actually beaten you, Earl. I have beaten you _so_ many times.”

“Ah, but I’ve won more.”

Cecil wanted to argue, but the second he opened his mouth he realized they were both smiling, and then Carlos laughed and said, “Were you two like this when you were kids?” and Earl said, "Oh no, we were so much worse," and they were actually making eye contact and he felt a safe, warm sensation in his stomach, seeing them together like this. 

And that was how the following rounds turned into an elaborate game of Interview. Carlos told stories about college roommates and amusing laboratory accidents. Earl brought up old scouting trips and anecdotes about bloodstone rituals gone slightly awry. Cecil provided gentle prodding in the lulls, and after a couple of hands he poured a couple fingers of whiskey in two glasses and got Carlos a beer from the fridge. 

Earl looked over the top of his cards with a little half smile, swirling his drink around the bottom of his glass. “Can I ask a personal question?”

Carlos shrugged. “Sure, you can ask whatever you want. I can’t promise I’ll answer.”

“Okay. How old were you when you had your first boyfriend?”

Cecil moved cards around in his hand, pretending he wasn’t listening eagerly for the answer. This hadn’t come up yet.

“First one I was up front about, I was like seventeen. But I think I should count Reuben, and I was thirteen. Completely in denial. I haven’t been to mass in at least a decade, but at this point I was still a Good Catholic Boy.”

Earl raised his cards over his lips and mouthed _What’s Catholic?_ in Cecil’s direction. Cecil shrugged helplessly as Carlos continued.

“I kissed him a couple times, and he wrote me a really ridiculous rhyming poem, and then two days later he punched me in the nose and stopped talking to me.” 

“What?” Earl asked. “Why?”

“Some of the other kids saw.” He shrugged. “Whatever. If it went any farther I’d probably still be doing Hail Marys.”

Cecil pondered Hailing Mary with horror. What even was that? It sounded dangerous. “Was he seeing someone else?”

“Nah, we were just kids,” Carlos said, looking at Earl and taking a long sip from the bottle. “In hindsight I learned a couple of valuable lessons about attraction and denial.” He thoughtfully licked a drip of beer from the mouth of the bottle. 

Cecil met Earl’s eyes and shrugged again. What did it matter who saw? Maybe it was a science thing? But it wasn’t like Carlos was secretive about it now…and why did he suddenly look so tired, a little sad?

Whatever. Cecil set down a pair and discarded.

“Hey Carlos,” Earl said abruptly after a quiet moment, “did Cecil ever tell you about his library adventure?”

"Oh _come on_ ," Cecil huffed. Earl had apparently noticed his discomfort too, and decided to sacrifice Cecil. _Oh good. So glad you two are getting along._

“Why, no,” Carlos said, with a wicked little smile, “no he has not.”

“So, Cecil’s mom never quite got around to giving him certain vital information. Most notable, the Talk was a thing that had not happened in the Palmer house.”

Cecil rubbed his temples and mumbled, “You’re doing this, aren’t you? Of course you are. Why wouldn’t you?”

“So when we were like, fourteen, he knew there was information he didn’t have, and that it was vaguely important. Instead of asking anyone, he decides he’s gonna sneak into the library and try to find out on his own.”

“I was embarrassed, okay, I’d spent like three years pretending I got all the weird stupid jokes you guys made--”

“And so he taps on my window at like two in the morning, and he’s all torn up when I let him in, and he tells me where he was, right? I asked what happened and he goes, ‘oh Earl, it was _horrible_ , can I please stay here tonight because I don’t want to be alone in the dark’--”

“I absolutely did _not_ say that--”

“--but I thought he meant the library, but--” Earl was interrupted by his own laughter. “He meant what he’d read before the librarians smelled him. I have _no idea_ where he found the information he’d gotten--maybe some old ritual book--but he made me swear not to do anything with the girl I was going out with because he thought it would end in brainwashing and dismemberment.”

Cecil felt his lips pinch together and his brow furrow. This was uncalled for, and he would be avenged. 

“Once Earl was showing off on a camping trip with a bow and accidentally broke his own nose.”

“Cecil doodled the names of his crushes all over his notebooks and folders. Everywhere. Little hearts and shit.”

“Yeah but he still does that,” Carlos said. “I think it’s cute.”

“Thank you.” Cecil glared across the table at Earl. “See? Someone here loves me.”

Earl set down his empty glass, “Cecil, everyone here loves you, but that’s not enough to save you from embarrassing story time.” He grinned with a decidedly sarcastic sweetness. “See? You’re not the only one who can just throw that out there.”

“Oooh, he does have a point,” Carlos teased, rinsing his bottle in the sink and setting it gently in the recycling.

“I thought you were on my side!”

“I’m not on a side, I’m admiring the view from above.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Cecil rose quickly, back straight and head high, and tossed his cards onto the table. “You leave me no choice. I didn’t want to do this.” He threw his head back and announced dramatically, “ _Earl is definitely attracted to you._ ”

There was a moment of silence. Earl pushed away from the table and opened his mouth but said nothing. Had he gone too far? Did he just kill a relationship in an embarrassing story contest? Oh no. _Oh endless void, no._

“I’m sorry--I’m sorry, that--” Cecil coughed and looked away. “I’m gonna--I’ll be back.” He retreated towards the bathroom as fast as he dared and locked the door. 

He could hear garbled conversation over the fan but couldn’t make out the words. He sat with his back to the door and breathed. 

_Okay. Worst thing that can happen: Earl is insulted and horrified and storms out of the house and never talks to me again, because once again my insensitive mouth got away from me, and Carlos loses all respect for me and packs things and storms out of the house because he can’t_ be _with someone who would_ do _something like that._

That seemed unlikely. He and Earl had done worse to each other, lashing out blindly in their frightened youth, and Carlos wasn’t the type to throw away this much time over one mistake, no matter how big. 

_More likely: Earl is hurt and confused. I apologize. He probably forgives me and is understandably wary, and that would be difficult but not impossible to tolerate. Okay. Step one. Wrap all this regret in a paragraph that begins with “I was wrong” and ends with “can you forgive me”._

But maybe that was step two. Step one was getting up from the floor and putting a little water on the back of his neck and taking a few deep breaths.

_Right. Here goes._ He opened the door and announced, “Earl, I am so sorry, that was completely inappropriate and--”

He stopped halfway through the living room. He stared. 

Carlos was sitting on the dining room table, and Earl was standing in front of him, and until the prior second they had absolutely, one hundred percent kissing.

Oh.

_Oh._

“P-please,” Cecil stammered after a moment, sitting weakly on the sofa, a smile creeping across his flushed face. “Don’t let me interrupt.”


	7. Bridge a Gap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE IS SEX IN THIS CHAPTER. Here is your official warning. They fuckin'.

Carlos was definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent distracted.

They were in the living room now, sorting through the fallout of That Kiss. It wasn’t terribly bad fallout, but it still needed to be discussed.

Intentionally, and with great care, he relaxed his body language. He’d positioned himself on the sofa, leaned back, ankle crossed over his knee. An open posture. Cecil was on the other side of the sofa, not touching him, but close, legs outstretched and ankles crossed. His hands were in his lap, clutching each other as though looking for stability.

Earl was on a chair across from them. He perched on the edge like he was ready to take flight.

“So!” Cecil said brightly, but he didn’t seem to have anything to follow that. And Carlos found himself thinking about Earl’s mouth.

His lips had been dry, slightly chapped, a bit coppery in places. Now, he watched the nervous way he picked at them and realized why. It had started as a very timid kiss, chaste even. Frankly, Carlos was surprised he’d done it at all.

“Look, I--” Earl started, his hand dropping into his lap.

“Don’t you apologize, Earl, don’t you even,” Cecil said. “That was...a thing that happened and I _hope_ it was a good thing, but it was my mistake that things--happened like that.”

He’d stood quickly, when Cecil left, and Carlos had only stepped in front of him so he wouldn’t follow. _Let him have a minute,_ he’d said. _Let him think_.

“So, foremost,” Cecil went on, twisting his hands together, “let me just say. Earl, I’m sorry I put you on the spot vis-a-vis your crush on Other Boyfriend. That wasn’t fair. And as much as I--” he stopped and put a hand over his mouth to cover a smile before he continued, “--as glad as I am that you two have--have _settled_ things a little, you should have been able to come into it in your own time. I hope you can forgive me.”

He cleared his throat a little and twisted at the waist, seeking eye contact from Carlos. “Carlos,” he said, clearly having rehearsed his apologies, “I’m sorry you ended up in that situation--ahem--that situation with Earl because of my careless talk. My behavior was inappropriate. Thank you for your patience with me through the situation itself, and I hope you can forgive any...discomfort I may have caused.”

He glanced back and forth between the two of them, as though looking for someone to pick up where he left off.

The closed mouth kiss had carried on a moment, before he pulled back and stared at Carlos’ face, his eyebrows huddled together as though for security, catching his lower lip between his teeth. He seemed so concerned, so vulnerable, that Carlos couldn’t leave him alone like that. He’d hopped up onto the table and reached out both hands, palms outward, the same invitation he sometimes offered to Cecil. 

Earl had taken his hands.

“Um.” Earl looked toward the ceiling. “Can we just--I dunno. Level?” His hand moved towards his lips again, then back down. “What are we doing here?”

“That--yes,” Cecil said, “that’s a good point.”

Carlos thought about Earl’s hands. They were clammy, like Cecil’s always seemed to be--maybe Night Vale natives just burned hot. He ran his thumbs over Earl’s knuckles, probably so dry from frequent hand-washing at work. He’d smiled. _Are you okay? Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. Nothing will happen if you don’t want it to._

“I’m sure Carlos has something to say about that. Carlos? You have--anything, um, direct to add?” As Cecil spoke, Carlos felt a fresh twinge of affection for him. Despite his job, Cecil was good at _speaking_ , but adorably awful at putting sentences together if he didn’t have the chance to scratch down notes and prepare.

Earl’s eyes had shone with a quiet kind of defiance. _I’m okay_. And he’d leaned forward and kissed him again, eyes squeezed shut like a child at prayer. After a moment Carlos had felt a soft, damp prod from his tongue, a timid knock on a door he probably hadn’t expected to open. 

Carlos shook his head and smiled. “God, you two are cute.”

That moment--Earl gently reaching out, respectfully extending intimacy--was the moment that had charmed Carlos completely. Previously there was attraction, an interest in what was buried underneath his nervous politeness, and (if he was being completely honest) a distinctly carnal curiosity.

“What we’re dealing with here,” he said, sitting up and leaning forward, “is the hypotenuse. The longest side of a triangle. Connecting the points that are furthest apart.”

Cecil blinked at him, smiling faintly. Earl was pulling at his lip again. Perhaps he’d lost them.

He patted his pockets for a notepad. “Here, let me show you--damnit--Ceec I told you we needed a blackboard for the living room--”

“Carlos, my darling, we do _not_.”

In the frustrating absence of a legal writing utensil or a handy notebook, he held up to fingers spread at an angle. “Okay, so remember that model I drew in the diner, Earl? So if I’m here, right, and you’re here, what we’re talking about--” he set the forefinger of his other hand across the top of the V, “--is this. The appropriate way to bridge that gap.”

He paused, but neither of them had a response, apparently. Earl looked a bit like he was staring into the headlights of a semi, and Cecil’s face was bright and carefully blank.

“You have me at a disadvantage,” Earl said with a faraway look. “You two have, like, years, and you’ve built this life, and I’ve got so much happening outside of this--”

“I’m not proposing an equilateral triangle,” Carlos said gently. “And we don’t have to sort out all the details now. Hell, this might not even work, so there’s literally, like, _zero_ obligation.”

“I--” Earl raised a hand and lowered it again. “I have to go.” He looked toward the door. “I’m sorry. I need to think.”

“Oh! Oh, of course, “ Cecil said brightly. “I’ll walk you to the door?”

Carlos, still sitting on the sofa after they moved past him, heard some nervous sound from Earl.

“Oh no,” Cecil insisted. “He’s trying to impress you. He wants to sound all smart and stuff. It’s important to him. Your opinion.”

Earl said something else, something Carlos missed, before the door closed.

 

 

Cecil was generally fairly dominant. This was for both personal and practical reasons.

Personally, Cecil craved control. Even before the Lot 37 problem, anything that felt like surrender, like vulnerability, was frightening to him. He was far more comfortable holding down, scratching and biting, knotting his fingers into Carlos’ thick curls and pulling, savoring the sounds his actions produced. In giving pleasure and pain he felt strong, with control he felt peace. Even in gentler intimacy, the slow and lazy Sunday-morning style sex, he tended to lead. This was all fine for Carlos, who relished letting himself be swept away, centered in the body and heart, not the brain.

Practically speaking, Cecil was _loud_.

The first time he had whispered _wait, do you want to…?_ , with steady and slightly nervous eye contact, Carlos had been unsure.

_Sweetie, you don’t have to._

Cecil had shaken his head, keeping eye contact, something indescribable in his eyes. _I want to give you this. Take me._

And first he had sighed, eyes open, searching Carlos’ face for signs of--of something. And then the lids fluttered shut, and he groaned, deep sounds in his throat.

He cried out, _oh god, oh my god, oh my stars and heavens_ ,  
and he finished with something that Carlos could only have described as a vastly magnified sigh, something powerful tearing itself from his throat.

And then there was a knock on the door, and a bit of an interrogation in the back of a van, wrapped hastily in discarded pajamas and the lab coat Cecil had claimed as his robe. They’d managed, barely, to convince the Sheriff's Secret Police that they were not performing unlicensed exorcisms but merely indulging in a physical expression of love.

The second time, the knock had come again, and Carlos tried to compose himself before opening the door, wrapped tightly in a flat sheet with his most serious face on. But the Secret Policeperson merely winked behind their mask, offered Carlos a high five, and disappeared into the night. 

Several times since then, they had worked on keeping the sounds under control. Gags were out of the question, and Cecil had once fainted after an ill-advised attempt to hold his breath. The solution often turned out to be burying his face in Carlos’ shoulder to muffle the softer sounds, followed by sinking his teeth into the delicate skin. This sudden rush of sharp pain tended to provoke a gasp and increased vigor from Carlos, and a delirious streak of pleasure smearing out sensory input for a while.

On this night, after Earl’s thoughtful retreat, Carlos pressed down against him, seeing the same fluttering eyelids, feeling the arc of Cecil’s body pressing against him. The pressure of his hips was intoxicating, and Carlos, drunk with lust, pressed back. 

He was careful in preparations, gentle and peppered with kisses. Outside of the pressing lust, there was an uncertainty in Cecil’s face that Carlos was desperate to soothe. _Whatever happens_ , he wanted to say, _wherever this goes, I am yours._ But even as the words crept up his throat, he knew they would sound hollow and endeavored to show them with his eyes, the gentle movements of his fingers, the press of his lips and tongue on the many secret places that lovers share.

“Oh,” Cecil whispered, softly. The same movements of his tongue on the same place provoked a wildly different sound. The only variance, Carlos realized, was the position of the players. 

His lips parted, allowing the slick head to pass into his mouth, and Cecil made a sound choked in the back of his throat and pushed his hips downward against Carlos’ hand. 

There were no words; Carlos willed his mouth, his rolling tongue to say _I love you_ , his eager fingers to say _I’ll always take care of you_ , and finally, after luxuriating in the soft and vulnerable sounds his work provoked, he pressed inside of his partner, the movement of his hips trying to indicate _you are precious to me._

The teeth on his chest would leave a bruise, and if Cecil groaned any louder the neighbors would start banging on the wall again, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop or even slow down, to try and mitigate the noise of their passion.

It ended fairly quickly, but explosively; they collapsed together, and Cecil was downright clingy as they caught their breath, snuggled close together. There was that unexplainable _something_ on his face again, some fear behind his eyes.

“You okay?” Carlos asked, when he could speak again.

“Yeah.” This was unconvincing.

“You want to talk for a bit?”

“No.”

“Okay." Carlos kissed him once, slowly, lips closed and lingering. "Let me know when you do.”

They were still for a second. Carlos tucked Cecil’s head under his chin and dozed, rolling onto his back when a poke in the ribs alerted him to his snoring.

Something buzzed halfheartedly from under the chaotic clutter on the night stand. When Cecil moved towards it, Carlos tried to say “wait no that was cozy” but it comes out as a barely audible whine.

“It might be work,” Cecil says, sounding surprisingly alert. “There’s something going on with St--”

Carlos forced a groggy eye open when he stopped talking. 

“It isn’t me.” In the dim yellow light of street lamps filtered by curtains, Carlos saw a slightly tense smile. “It’s you.”

He squinted one eye at the too-bright screen and vaguely made out the text:

**Hey let’s get a coffee or something soon**

He tried to make sense of what he was reading and only noticed the source when Earl sent a **:-)** , presumably to communicate a casual, laid-back tone he did not actually feel.

Absently he tossed the phone away and heard it bounce off the bed and onto the carpet. 

“So...are you gonna go?” 

“Prolly,” he mumbled. “But right now I’m gonna sleep.”

“Aren’t you going to answer?”

“It’s three in the morning, babe. C’mere.”

Cecil snuggled his head back against his chest. “I love you,” he muttered.

“Love you too.”


	8. Favors the Brave

The sun was still up when Earl crossed Mission Grove Park, hand in his pocket, holding one of those paper coffee trays. Cool. Casual. He set his face into a neutral smile. 

Their first coffee date--because that’s all it was, it was coffee, coffee without promise or guarantee--had been postponed for a day because the sun hadn’t come up on Tuesday and there was a brief panic regarding a rush-hour meteor storm. He was still half-ready to brush the whole thing off, defensively holding back a little, so he almost expected Carlos not to show. 

But there he was, on a bench, foot crossed over his ankle, staring at a cactus flower and mumbling under his breath.

“Uh. Cecil said you take extra cream?”

“Hmm?” Carlos looked up with a vague smile and pushed his glasses up with his thumb. “Oh! Yeah, thanks.” He patted the bench next to him and shifted over a bit.

They sipped in silence.

“D’you get that from the sand wastes?” Earl asked after a moment.

“No, still had it from the Desert Otherworld. It keeps flickering in and out of existence and I’m really curious about it. It’s getting kind of wilty though.”

“I can show you where they grow. I take the Scouts out there, couple-few times a year. If you need, like, a control sample or something.”

“Great. Thanks. That’d be really helpful.” He sipped from the paper cup, then slurped up a bit that had splashes into the plastic lid. “Date number two, maybe.”

Earl wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He sipped his own coffee and looked out over the park.

“Hey, where’d you get this? It’s not bad.”

“There’s a little place down by Dust Hut, they’re pretty good. Just don’t get a red-eye chai. Panic attack in a cup.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s, uh--” Earl found his fingers creeping to his lips and forced his hand back into his lap. “It’s like a chai latte, but with espresso? And they do not mess around with the espresso there. But it’s Cecil’s favorite if you ever want to surprise him.”

“Good to know. Thanks.” Carlos looked out over the horizon and tapped his nail against the side of the cup. “Good to know,” he repeated slowly. 

Silence. Earl tried to slow the mad scramble of his thoughts. Something...simple. Casual. Don’t just say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Anything in particular you wanted to do today?” Carlos asked.

“No.” _Ugh, was that too blunt?_ “I mean--we can do whatever you want.”

“Okay. I was thinking, maybe we could check out that Museum? The Forbidden Technology one? Ceec always says ‘oh yeah sure!’ when I suggest it, but shaking his head reeeaaaally slowly at the same so I guess that means he isn't interested.”

“Yeah, after what happened last time he, uh, he probably shouldn’t be seen there. For a while. We can go though!”

Carlos smiled his thousand-watt smile. “Alright, let’s do it!”

They mosied through the park, which was difficult for Earl, who was not at all a mosier. Earl walked with purpose. Carlos needed to stop, though, and touch things or look at things or, on one occasion, smell a thing, and Earl kept having to turn back to find him again. But it was early yet. Earl willed himself to move more slowly, to relax. This was a date. There is no need to rush.

The air smelled like a campfire, warm and comforting. The museum was in sight. 

“Hey,” Carlos asked, “do you hear that?”

“That crunchy noise? Yeah, that’s normal.”

“No, I mean the sirens…”

Earl focused a bit. “Oh. No, that one’s not normal.”

As they drew closer to the building Earl realized it was surrounded. Balaclava-clad Secret Police were everywhere, mumbling into walkie-talkies and exchanging coded gestures. They were stopped ten feet from the entrance. 

“Excuse me, folks, you can’t come through here. Please turn around and return to your homes. You--Oh!” The policeperson stopped speaking suddenly. “You’re that scientist, right, the one who lives with Palmer?”

“Um--”.

Earl noticed the color drain from Carlos’ face and he looked away. 

“I’ve been your monitor this week.” The secret policeperson clapped him on the shoulder. “Well done you. Anyway, you two should get out of here.”

Earl and Carlos were silent as they retreated.

“What was that all about?” Earl asked. 

“Oh--nothing. That guy arrested us once. He, um, misheard some things.”

Earl nodded. “Right,” he said vaguely, hoping the subject would drop. He wasn’t jealous, not really, but the topic was still a little uncomfortable for him. He didn’t quite have the vocabulary to discuss _our mutual boyfriend’s sexual volume_ in a normal context, much less while on a date. 

They drifted onwards, quietly, both a little embarrassed. 

“Hey,” Carlos said suddenly, “wanna go look at some wolves?”

“I--what?”

“The petting zoo is full of them, and we’re right here anyway. Look, there’s bunnies too!”

_Is this what people do on dates? Look at fluffy things?_ Earl had not done much dating, certainly not as an adult, but at least it was a destination. “Okay. If you want to. But be careful. The surviving rabbits are tricky.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Earl stopped in front of Carlos and held both of his shoulders, speaking slowly and carefully, in a low voice so the rabbits wouldn’t overhear. “About half of the rabbits were eaten by the wolves. The other half worked out a deal with the wolves, where they pretend to be injured or sick or lost, and they the lure the gullible back to the pack. They either get eaten or become part of the pack. We lost a Cub Scout a few weeks ago, went feral and had to be lured out with oatmeal cookies.”

Carlos nodded. “Okay.”

“Be careful.”

“Okay.”

Earl maintained eye contact. “I mean it. Cecil will never forgive me if you join a wolf pack.”

They paid their admission fee and walked slowly along the rows of enclosures, meeting the eyes of hungry wolves and sad, limping rabbits.

Carlos leaned over and whispered, “Lay it on a little thick, don’t they?” Earl snorted laughter, which he had to pretend was a cough when he realized the significant look they were getting from a couple of the wolves. 

“I mean, their target is mostly children, there isn’t much room for subtlety.”

“The symbiotic relationship is fascinating. I’d love to study this at length. I could make a wolf suit. Creep in and watch their negotiations.”

“Carlos.”

“It’d be a hell of a paper--”

“Carlos, _no_.”

Carlos tutted. “It would be fine.”

“It would not be fine.” Earl walked backwards a few paces, watching Carlos carefully. “We just discussed this.”

Carlos smiled at him. “Symbiosis.”

“ _No,_ Carlos.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean the wolves that time. I meant, well, mutually beneficial relationships.”

Earl smiled and turned around, slowing his pace so they could walk side by side again. “Are you speaking in metaphor?”

“Well, I had to take all those general education courses, I might as well get something out of them.” 

 

The sun was sinking lazily below the horizon as they exited the petting zoo. Carlos had wanted to stay and observe more of the resident’s behavior, but it wasn’t exactly the best place to be after dark.

Carlos pulled out his phone to check time and stopped. “Oh god. Look at this.”

Earl squinted at the bright little screen:

**How is it how is it????  
is it great? I bet it’s great  
did you kiss him  
ARE YOU KISSING HIM RIGHT NOW??  
you two are too cute I can’t stand it ahhhhhh**

“It’s possible that Cecil is more excited about this date then we are,” Carlos went on, “and I was pretty excited, so that’s saying something. There’s been kind of a--a range of emotions on the topic, so I’m glad he’s feeling good about it now.”

“Wherever this goes--” Earl paused, pulling at his lip.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll move slow. We’ll be careful.”

Earl felt a tentive hand on his elbow and saw Carlos' small smile from the corner of his eye. “We can move as slow as we want to,” he said, “but all the carefulness in the world can’t prevent people from getting hurt.”

“That’s true. But fortune favors the brave!”

“Fortune _what_?”

“Favors the--haven’t you heard that expression before?”

Earl shook his head. “What a horrible expression," he mumbled darkly, "Fortune doesn’t favor anyone.”


	9. Okay

The game was going well. It was going _really_ well--Josie was on fire tonight and Cecil wasn’t doing too badly himself. So he didn't think it would be a problem if he answered his phone between frames. 

“Helllllooooo Romeo,” he said sweetly, “how is Juliet?”

“I was...worried about you when you weren’t here. I thought you’d be home and I don’t mean _you shouldn’t be out enjoying yourself_ but more _I’m glad you’re okay and you answered your phone_.” Carlos cleared his throat loudly. “Also, the date--was it a date? I think it was a date. I’m calling it a date, but I should probably ask him--went really well so comparison to a Shakespearean tragedy may not be accurate.”

“That’s...a fair point. And you didn’t need to worry. It’s League Night, remember?”

“I thought that was Thursdays.”

“Yessss,” Cecil said slowly.

“Today is not Thursday.”

“...Yes.”

“Cecil, it is absolutely, one-hundred-percent, Wednesday.”

Cecil counted on his fingers, then looked carefully over his shoulder. Absolutely no one was looking at him, and they probably weren't listening either. “Well, we’re winning so don’t tell anyone,” he whispered finally.

Carlos said nothing. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just get worried about nothing.”

Cecil bit his lip and looked over his shoulder again. Had he done something wrong? Was there something he was supposed to do that he forgot? “Oh! Hang on a second!” What perfect timing. “I’m up. Here, talk to Josie. Josie!”

He handed Carlos off and cracked his knuckles and tried to smile. There wasn’t anything he’d forgotten, right? Aside from what day it was? (And that couldn’t really be held against him, could it? Apparently two teams worth of bowlers had mistaken the day. Maybe Carlos was wrong. There may have been a day change on the Community Calendar he'd missed.)

 _Stop,_ he told himself. _Focus._

And some deep, sneaky part of his mind responded, _yeah, you don’t want to make everyone else angry too._

He narrowed his eyes. He stuck out his tongue slightly. He leaned forward and wiggled like a cat about to pounce.

He closed his eyes on the follow-through. If it was awful, he didn’t want to see.

He kept his eyes closed until he heard a reaction, and that reaction was Josie shouting “Get it, boy!”

He opened his eyes a crack out and sighed loudly. Okay. Easy spare. It was fine. Everything was fine.

But while he wiggled the second time, he heard Josie say “Have you ever known that boy to keep quiet about anything?” So they were _talking about him_ and--

“Aw, hell,” he whispered.

“You were close,” Erika said politely, and he absolutely did not feel put at ease by any kind of heavenly light in the hand on his shoulder. “You only missed a couple.”

He growled and shook his fist dramatically at the ceiling to deflect attention away from his embarrassment.

He sat down on the awkward plastic chair and huffed loudly, reaching a hand towards Josie.

“Excuse me, young man, I’m in the middle of a conversation.” She pushed his hand away and said, “well, I’m glad it was a nice time, anyway, and I hope you kissed him goodnight because he’s such a nice kid, and really you all could be very happy if you put your minds to it--”

“Oh for Spire’s sake,” Cecil mumbled.

“Do you want him back? Alright, you have a good night.” She gave Cecil a Look while she handed the phone over.

“Hi darling. Sorry about that. Hope she didn’t, uh, say anything weird.”

“No, it’s fine. I was just--”

“Carlos, I--I’m sorry,” Cecil said.

“Why?”

And now that he thought about it, Cecil wasn’t entirely sure. He felt vaguely like he was being difficult lately, in some way he couldn’t explain. “I. Well.”

“There’s nothing, logically speaking, that you should be sorry for. That wasn’t what I meant at all.”

“Um.” Cecil looked over his shoulder again. No one seemed to be paying attention.

“My point is--I guess my point is, anyway, that I didn’t, uh, forget about you. I thought about you. I don’t want you to feel like...I don’t think of you. I can think about both of you at the same time, is where I’m going with this.”

Okay well that was just _adorable_. And nothing was wrong. Everything was okay and it was going to be okay and they had nothing to worry about, and now he felt silly for panicking.

They were fine.

“Um. Are you still there?”

“Uh-huh! Just--overwhelmed by you being cute.”

“Alright, you get back to it. I’ll see you later. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

 

One of Carlos’ very cute, but very unscientific, habits happened when he looked for things. He’d get distracted, and not really focus on what he was doing, so he’d search places that could not logically contain the thing he was looking for--he’d look for Cecil by absent-mindedly opening the microwave, or he’d check under the couch cushions for the large and interesting rock he was hoping to study.

That would explain why the apartment was somewhat disheveled when Cecil got home. Carlos had turned out the pockets on every jacket in the hallway, left the medicine cabinet open in the bathroom (although he had the presence of mind to avoid accidentally tearing the layers of newspaper that covered the mirror), and pulled a few boxes out from under the bed.

So maybe that last one wasn’t too bad. Cecil had, once or twice, gotten himself into a panic over the Possession Situation and hidden under the bed.

“Carlos?” he called hesitantly. What had made him so nervous? His explanation, although charming, didn’t seem to match the level of distress indicated by the state of the apartment. “Honey?”

“In here.”

What was he doing in the closet?

“Is everything okay?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. You can come in.”

Cecil turned the light on, and a cloud of moths scattered. He waved at them, suddenly startled.

“Sorry. The Faceless Old Woman let them in again. I think she’s trained them to just go after your stuff. I think I’ve found a way to catch them. I know it looks like a light in a box but it’s actually much more complex and--”

He stopped short when Cecil hugged him. Tightly. _You’re so sweet and I’m so lucky and I’m sorry for whatever it is that made you worry,_ he thought, as loudly as he could, in Carlos’ direction.

“Hey.” Carlos stretched the arm that was not holding his very-complex-science-box around Cecil’s back and nudged Cecil’s head into the crook of his neck. They stayed like that for a long moment, swaying slightly.

“What’s wrong?” He asked finally.

“Nothing.”

“Cecil.” Carlos kissed the side of his head. “Let’s talk outside of the closet.”

They sat on the bed, side by side in the square of light spilling out from the closet door. Cecil fiddled with the beads on the fringe of a blanket.

“Why were you so nervous? About me not being here?”

Carlos sighed heavily. “I worry.”

“That’s not an answer.” Cecil willed his heartbeat to slow down, because he was almost certain Carlos could hear it thundering in his chest.

“I know you’ve been--concerned. A little. About the situation with Earl.”

“I am not.” Cecil’s nerves flared. He absolutely was _not_ jealous, and he was a bit angry at the insinuation.

“It’s reasonable to wonder what will happen,” Carlos said gently. “I wondered how this would change things, at every step I’ve looked carefully around to see where we all are. And he and I have never been, um, out together, alone. You know. When I came home and you weren’t here--I didn’t panic. I didn’t think anything drastic had happened. I was just worried that you were off somewhere. Lonely. Or sad. Or--that something else had happened, something entirely unrelated to us.”

He did not need to expand. Cecil knew he meant _I was worried you’d been hijacked again and were off doing something dangerous while I was on a date_.

“And anyway, I know you get--insecure. About things. So I also wanted to make sure you knew I love you. A lot. A whole lot. Like, sometimes I think about it and it startles me, how much I love you. And nothing is going to change that.”

“I just wanted to make sure you knew that,” he said again after a quiet moment. He reached over and set a hand on Cecil’s knee, the way he had the first time they were alone together, and it was a gesture that contained the affection of a thousand kisses.

Cecil put his hand over Carlos’ and squeezed it tight. He couldn’t find the right words, and for once he couldn’t even find the almost-right words to trip over in the vague direction of his feelings. For the first time in recent memory, he was completely speechless.

“We’re alright,” he said finally, and then had to clear his throat hastily. “We’re--we’re okay.”


	10. Bridge, Crossed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (so that was a hell of a delay, huh?)

“You just missed him.” Earl looked up from his papers with a half-smile. “He’s completely worn out and I have _no idea_ how it happened.”

“Didn’t you guys go out tonight?” Carlos called, still by the door and struggling to get his shoes off. He was a little surprised that Earl was still there, and that he had his papers spread across half the table like they belonged there. And they did. After a fashion. 

There was a possibility that he had been waiting for Carlos to come home, and it was definitely a pleasant possibility.

“Nah. Stayed home, had dinner, cuddled until he fell asleep. I’m lucky I got out of there with my arm intact, he latches on and won’t let go.”

“Oh god, yes, he’s like an octopus.” Carlos paused. “Well, maybe not. Half as many limbs.”

“And with less--” Earl made a suction sound, then laughed, a dry little chuckle. At the end of the laugh was a sigh, and after the sigh, he looked back to his work.

“Whatcha got there?” Carlos asked pleasantly, pulling out a chair. If he was being honest, he was just looking for a way to extend the conversation.

“Scout stuff,” Earl said vaguely, shuffling papers around.

“Oh.” Carlos sat quietly for a moment, then hummed a little bit under his breath, trying to find something else to say. He’d reached a point in their relationship ( _???_ ) where he wanted to talk to Earl more, but still wasn’t quite sure how to make that happen. Cecil had made conversation so easy, since he was more than willing to fill nervous silence with nervous talk, and was so damned cute when he did it. But Carlos and Earl were both a little more reserved with each other, a little more cautious, still concerned how the other would perceive them.

Earl peeked up at him with a slight smile before going back to his work. For a moment it looked like he was about to say something, but nothing was forthcoming. 

There was a sudden clattering sound from the corner, and then, abruptly, music. The record player was acting up again.

“Ah, Spire’s sake,” Earl mumbled. “Stupid thing. It’s like a meddling aunt trying to get you to kiss that nice girl from down the street. I mean, Frank Sinatra? Does Cecil even have a Sinatra album?”

“Uh.” Carlos scratched his scalp distractedly. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Great. The record player is pirating music.” Earl moved papers around with a little huff. 

“Do you know how to turn it off? Cecil’s the only one I’ve seen make it do anything.” Carlos neglected to mention the part where he was scared to touch it.

“No. He spoils it, so now it thinks it doesn’t have to listen to anyone else.” He didn’t really seem to be doing anything with the papers anymore, just glancing from one messy pile to another. Like props in a play.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Carlos looked around the room for some hint of what to say next, humming along with the song under his breath. Earl made increasingly heavy sighing sounds.

“Forget it,” he grumbled, shoving his papers in a pile. “Doesn’t matter. Apparently I’m not getting anything done today.”

“Oh?” Carlos asked innocently. Perhaps the easiest way to start conversation was to give Earl room to talk about himself. He didn’t know much about Earl, after all, and Cecil had known Earl so long that he seemed to just assume Carlos knew everything he did. 

Earl just shrugged and tried to shove his papers into a couple of stacks that were slightly less messy. The silence resumed, interrupted only by Earl loudly clearing his throat, the scrape of Carlos’ chair when he stood up. 

“Want some tea or something?”

“Sure.” Earl shrugged. 

Carlos smiled and busied himself with the kettle and mugs. It was a little easier when you had something to do. He hummed with the music, which was odd because he was certain he didn’t know this song at all, and if he did, it certainly wasn’t in a Frank Sinatra version.

He filed this, as he did many things, under _Night Vale is a weird place_ and moved on in his thought process.

“You’re off beat,” Earl said. “I mean--um. Nevermind.”

“No, it’s fine.” Carlos smiled, reassuring. “I probably was. I’m not good at doing two things at once, especially with distractions.”

“Yeah but that was, like, super rude for me to say.” Earl was looking a little flustered, cheeks pink under his freckles. 

“But it’s fine, though,” Carlos said. “It’s nice to have a real multi-tasker around the place. I--” he swallowed. Because this was ridiculously cheesy, but it needed to be said; it was better said when Cecil wasn’t there to peek at them around a corner, giggling into his hand and then hiding ineffectively. “I’m glad you’re here. I like having you around.”

“Oh.” Earl brightened, smiled. “Thanks. Me too. I mean--I like being here, with you guys.”

“You’re not intruding, you know.” Carlos spooned sugar into his cup and then leaned on the counter, waiting for the kettle to boil. “You can relax a little. We’re all pretty comfortable with--I mean, provided you’re comfortable with it--”

Earl rubbed a hand down his arm, nodded once at the floor, and then crossed the room quickly. He seemed to lose steam when he got to Carlos, dropping his hands and hesitating. “Hi,” he said quietly.

“Hello.” Carlos smiled. 

“I came over here to, I dunno, do something brave I guess. But moving in your direction was as far as I got in the planning phase, and I enacted the plan before I could talk myself out of it, so now here I am with no--”

Carlos leaned over and pressed his lips just lightly against Earl’s cheek. Again, he noticed, kind of cheesy. But Earl’s slight blush was warm against his lips and he still smelled like the kitchen at his job, all spices and smoke. 

“Oh.” Earl blinked, then smiled. He raised a hand, then paused, as though he was unsure what to do with it, before he set it lightly on Carlos’ shoulder. 

And that felt like victory, to Carlos, like they’d finally reached the end of some narrow bridge they’d been edging their way across for a long time, and while the courting wasn’t finished, they could both breathe a sigh of relief, stop trying so hard to impress each other.

In a fit of sudden, impulsive delight, Carlos grabbed him around the middle and spun them both in a circle. He managed to stop just short of giggling.

“Whoa--hey--” Carlos could hear the laughter in Earl’s voice, and _yes,_ he saw it too, saw that some phase of this experiment was completed, and it had been very, very successful.

He set his head against Earl’s shoulder, let himself be rocked gently back and forth. 

“Cecil told me about trying to teach you to dance,” Earl said. “Sounds cute.”

Carlos shrugged without looking up. “I’m not good at not being good at things. And sometimes it’s weird when someone finds your flaws charming.”

“How is that a flaw? The not-dancing thing, I mean.”

“It’s a thing I can’t do. A thing he has tried to show me how to do, and he’s really sweet and understanding about it but it’s embarrassing--how not good I am at it, and how frustrated I get about not being good at it.”

“No one’s good at everything. And I doubt you’re that bad, c’mon, put your hand here--”

“No, thank you. I’d rather not.”

Earl stopped rocking for a second and tilted his head to look down at Carlos. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. But I think you’d find me easier to dance with than Cecil.”

“What makes you say that?” Carlos looked away when he asked, trying to hide his discomfort. He wanted to get close to Earl, to make him happy, and yet here he was being difficult, being fussy.

“Well, Cecil is--he’s good at a few things, and likes being really good at them.”

“He’s a peacock, is what you’re saying.”

“Maybe a bit.” Earl shrugged. “Hell, you’ve seen how he dresses. Not a thing about him is subtle. And it’s kind of a flourishy activity, you know? I know you’ve seen that look on his face, when he’s showing off a little. It’s cute. Also sometimes infuriating.”

“And you’re less--less flourishy about it?” Carlos could hear the flat skepticism in his own voice. He must sound so pretentious to Earl, only wanting to do things he’s good at.

“Yeah. I’m not quite as good as he is, he’s got a feel for this kind of thing.” Earl resumed the slow and absent-minded rocking. “Don’t tell him I said that, though,” he added hastily. 

Carlos nodded. 

“If you ever want to practice, though,” Earl said, “I’m more than willing to assist.”

“I bet you are.” Carlos smiled. “I’m the perfectionist, Ceec is the peacock, and you’re--you’re the--”

“I’m the helper friend. I’ve been the helper friend all my life,” Earl added at Carlos’ curious look. “I’m not surprised to hear you say it.”

“I didn’t--”

“No, no, it’s okay.” Earl waved him off. “I’ve made peace with it. I care about people, more than I should sometimes, probably. And hey, if I wasn’t the helper friend, we wouldn’t be able to do this, right? I wouldn’t have wanted to be there for Cecil so much, wanted to help you keep him afloat.”

“Earl, that’s not all--”

“I know.” He leaned back again and smiled, more relaxed than Carlos could ever remember him being. “I know,” he said again. 

He pulled Carlos close again, a light sigh ruffling Carlos’ hair. They spent a long moment together in the middle of the kitchen, still and close and comfortable, before Earl started the easy, gentle rocking again.

Which was interrupted two minutes later, when they both jumped at the shriek of the now-boiling kettle.


End file.
